The Bad Man eBook

They did so. Nothing happened. An aching
silence followed. They wrote again; and then
one day a pale acknowledgment of their communication
came in one of those long and important-looking unstamped
envelopes. It seemed very official, very impressive.
But mere looks never helped any cause. They were
not naive enough to expect the Secretary of State to
come down in person and see to the mending of things.
But a platoon of soldiers—­a handful of
troops—­would have worked wonders. Jones
always contended that not a shot would have to be
fired; no more deaths on either side would be necessary.
The mere presence of a few men in uniform would have
the desired effect. The bandits, now prowling
about, would slink over the invisible border to their
own territory, and never be heard of again. Of
that he felt confident.

But no! Watchful waiting was the watchword—­or
the catchword. And the eternal and infernal raids
went on.

It was while they were having their community meeting
that he had come to know Jasper Hardy and his young
daughter Angela, who occupied the next ranch, about
a mile and a half south of his. Before that he
had been too busy to bother about neighbors.
“Red” Giddings, his foreman, had spoken
once or twice about “some nice folks down the
line,” but he hadn’t heard much of what
he said. There were always a hundred and one odd
jobs to be done around the place—­something
was forever needing attention; and when Uncle Henry
wasn’t grumbling about something, he was forcing
his nephew to play checkers or cribbage or cards with
him. And, working so hard all day, he was glad
to turn in early at night. Social life, therefore—­unless
you could call high words with a crabbed invalid a
form of social life—­didn’t come within
Gilbert’s ken. It was work, work, work,
and the desire to make good every moment for him.

But Hardy proved to be an aggressive fighter when
the meeting took place, and spoke in sharp tones of
the Government’s dilatoriness. He had come
to Arizona right after his wife’s death in the
East, and brought his only daughter and a few servants
with him. He seemed to have plenty of money,
and he was anxious lest the invading Mexicans should
get any of it away from him. His holdings, in
the eight years since he had come to the border, amounted
to several thousand well-cultivated acres; and he looked
like a man who, when he set out to get anything, would
get it. He had an inordinate desire to grab up
some more territory. Tall and thin, and sharp-featured,
as well as sharp-tongued, he resembled a hawk.
It was difficult to realize the fact that the pert
and lovely little Angela—­who lived up to
her name only once in a while!—­was his own
flesh and blood. It was as incongruous as though
a rose had grown on a beanstalk.

On their very first meeting, Gilbert had not been
pleasantly impressed with Hardy. But he soon
saw that the man had a certain rugged strength, and
there was no doubt he had suffered from the depredations
of Mexico’s casual visitors, and was ready to
protect not only his own interests but those of any
newcomers. He seemed to have the spirit of fair-mindedness;
and he believed firmly in the possibilities of this
magic land, particularly for young men. “It’s
God’s country,” he told Gilbert on more
than one occasion. “Get into the soil all
you can. Dig—­and dig deep.”